Sloth - Part 3 of The Seven Deadly Death Eater Tales
by AnneM.Oliver
Summary: The way he figured it, she cheated him out of the biggest reward of his career. Now it was time for her to pay him back, so to speak. (Scabior & Hermione Granger). Part 3 of The 7 Part 'Seven Deadly Death Eater Tales'.
1. Chapter 1

**Sloth  
(Part 3 of the Seven Deadly Death Eater Tales)  
By  
Anne M**

* * *

Sloth - laziness: a dislike of work or any kind of physical exertion. Apathy.

* * *

**Scabior's Point of View**

Standing by the corner of a brick building about a block away, he watched as the woman walked out of the entrance of a large Muggle building to his right. She placed her hand over her eyes to guard them from the bright sunlight, even as she turned her head, first to her right, then to her left, as if she was searching for something… someone. The man ducked back behind the corner quickly so she wouldn't see him.

He had been following her for days, carefully hiding down alleys and behind buildings so she wouldn't know he was watching her. Very soon, he would reveal himself to her, but not quite yet.

Would she even recognize him? He pondered that thought. Their brief encounter ten years ago remained vivid and ever lasting in his mind, but he didn't know if she held it in the same regard. He was sure she did, for whatever the reasons he felt a connection to her then, a connection that had not faltered even through years of his imprisonment.

Yes, she undoubtedly remembered him, although for completely different reasons than he remembered her.

She started walking finally, dropping her hand down to her side. Walking his direction, he moved so he was flat against the side of the building so she wouldn't see him. All he could do was to wait. If they weren't in the busiest part of Muggle London, he might reveal himself to her at this moment. Confront her just to gage her reaction.

But no, he knew he had to wait. He'd been waiting for ten years, what was one more day, one more hour, one more lifetime?

He had everything planned precisely and down to the last detail. Carefully, he had even rehearsed what he would say to her. After all, he had a long time to consider the consequences of his actions. It was all so perfect… really, it was. He would finally get what he wanted and he wouldn't even have to work for it. She would do all the work while he reaped all the rewards. Smiling to himself, he watched her walk by and he inhaled deeply. Ah, yes, he remembered her scent. It was embedded in his soul by now… a cross between spices and apples and pure vanilla extract. Something entirely too wholesome and too perfect and too clean for the likes of him.

A man could get lost in her smell alone. The faint remembrance of that smell helped him endure the long years he struggled while in Azkaban, paying for his sins against her and all humanity.

He had to laugh at that last thought.

Now she would pay for her sins as well. For in his humble assessment, her sins were greater than his were. Her sin was the feelings of regret and remorse she heaped upon him every time he thought of her. Those were foreign and painful feelings of which he had never felt before meeting her, and in which he wouldn't feel any longer after he was done with her. Sometimes the pangs of regret were so strong to him that it felt as if they were raining down on him in a heavy deluge. He didn't like that feeling. It wasn't right that he should feel guilt when he was only doing what came natural to him. He couldn't help if innocent people were hurt by it all. He couldn't help if SHE was hurt.

He also couldn't help the pain he felt every time he thought of her, which was almost daily.

Soon, she would pay for causing his once black heart to feel again.

Closing his eyes at night, he would see her withering in pain on the floor. Sitting alone in his little room in the flea-bitten hotel he'd called home for the last few days, he would sometime imagine that he could still hear her screams. She was tortured and abused, nothing but a slip of a girl at the time, and she emitted screams of pure unadulterated agony and pain, and for some odd reason he blamed himself for it.

When had that happened? He couldn't remember one single time of his life before when he had felt empathy for someone. His entire life he affected a perfect mask of apathy and indolence, until SHE came along and ruined everything for him.

Really, everything was her fault, and that was why he was going to do what he was going to do. He hated her. Really, he did. How dare she make him feel badly for something that was his innate right to do? He was only doing his job – his duty – and no one could find fault with that, could they? Well, no more.

Moving from his hiding place, he fell into step behind a gaggle of Muggles, just in time to see her entering the familiar pub that would lead her to Diagon Alley. He hadn't expected her to go there today, but that was fine. It merely meant it was finally time to reveal his plan to her.

Weaving through the crowd, he rather thought it was working out perfectly, more splendid than he first thought possible. Soon, she would be doing his bidding, paying him reparation – penance – instead of the other way around.

She disappeared from his view, but that was fine. He knew where to find her. Waiting five minutes, he finally walked into the pub as well.

**The Meeting**

"Hello, Tom," Hermione called out to the bartender as she walked to the back of the bar, toward the portal to Diagon Alley. Taking out her wand, she tapped the brick wall with the tip in the familiar pattern and then walked through to the other side, leaving Muggle London to set foot down in Magical London.

For some reason, she looked behind her as soon as she stepped down to the sidewalk. All the hairs had been standing up on her arms and the back of her neck since she started walking this afternoon. She felt as if someone was watching her, or following her, and it wasn't a vague feeling, but a 'real' feeling of apprehension.

This wasn't the first time in the last few days that she had felt like this, either. Glancing back once more, she only saw witches and wizards walking along, minding their own business. None of them gave her a thought or a care.

Continuing her trek, she walked to the little semi-attached building that housed her office, pulled on the door, and stepped over the entrance. This little building was at the mouth of Knockturn Alley, which made it a perfect location for her job.

She threw her purse and jacket on an abandoned chair, and moved to sit behind the desk. Only then did she stop short, gasping. Someone was here. She knew it as well as she knew her own name.

Stepping back over to the chair where she left her purse, therefore her wand (which was in the purse), she pulled it out of its sheath and paused. Then, she turned around slowly - wand in hand.

That was when she saw him. A man was in the far corner of the small office, standing half in the dark, half in the light, filtered from the front window on the door. His face was completely in shadow, but his hands were in the light. She could see they were empty, which was good.

"Who are you?" she asked with a steady voice, hand tightly gripping her wand. She pointed it toward the enigma - her apprehension from earlier giving her pause.

She wasn't afraid, though, oddly enough. She knew she should be, but she wasn't. When the man didn't answer, she repeated the question with more force. "I asked you who you were, and I'd like to know what you're doing here as well."

The man crossed his legs at the ankles, moving his hands into the pockets of his long, leather duster.

"Please keep your hands where I can see them," she quipped.

He took both hands out of his pockets, slowly, then crossed them as well, saying, "Since you said 'please', sweetheart, I'll comply. But I have to tell you that I'm unarmed, if that's what you're worried about."

With agility and grace, he moved his legs slowly, uncrossing his legs even as he pushed himself away from the wall. Yet his face was still partly hidden.

"Step out into the light," she demanded.

"I'm merely here to ask you a question, so if you don't mind, would you put your wand away? Unless, since you are showing me yours, you want me to show you mine."

"Hardly," she said tersely. She wasn't about to bargain with a man hiding in the corner of her law office. "Now answer my question as to who are you, and then kindly step into the light."

"Fine, fine, I will, sweetheart, but if I do, you must put the wand away. Agreed?" He held his hands upward, moving them away from his body. "You see, it's a matter of trust, don't you think? I trust you won't hex an unarmed man, and you need to trust me, too."

He moved completely into the light and then smiled.

That was when she saw his face. Suddenly, her world tilted a bit, harsh memories flooding her brain. That dreadful night… everything she had endured… that evil woman… the thoughts came rushing back in fragmented pictures and she almost dropped her wand in her surprise.

Grasping it tighter, so she wouldn't drop it, she realized that she was gripping it so tightly that it was causing her pain. The pain leveled out the memories. Finding her voice, she asked, "What can I do for you, Mr. Scabior?"

**Answering the Question**

The little mudblood recognized him. He should have known she would. Well, that was good, very good. It would make everything so much easier, and he liked things to be easier. He hated to work too hard for the things he wanted.

"You remember me, do you?" he asked the obvious, moving closer to her, lowering his hands as he approached.

"Yes, of course I remember you," she said through clenched teeth, her wand hand never wavering. "How could I forget?"

"How indeed?" Needing no further explanation from her, he said, "I was afraid that ten years in prison might have altered my good looks to the point where I'd have to convince you it was me. Good to know that's not the case, sweetheart."

He watched her chest rise and fall as she concentrated on his words. He could tell she was trying to think of what to ask him next. He was sure it was a challenge for her to remain so steady, when the appearance of him probably warped the perfect little life she now had. Judging from her harsh expression, he was going to have to tread carefully to get what he wanted from her.

"Really, you can put your wand down," he repeated. "Mine is in my pocket, right here inside my coat. You can even keep it for me, but just while we talk. I just got it back and I'm somewhat partial to it, don't you know? I'd hate to lose it again." Moving his hand slowly inside his long leather coat, he pulled out his wand and leaned forward to place it on the top of her desk.

While leaning closer, he caught a whiff of her familiar, and intoxicating, scent. The fragrance was what sustained him for ten long years – torturing him – making him unable to forget. For some reason, the heady scent of her, along with the fact that she had grown more beautiful with age, made his blood boil, and not in a good way. What right did she have to smell so good, so clean, and so wholesome? Hadn't she suffered as well?

What right did she have to look more desirable than the fates should allow?

What right did she have to bring up all these emotions in him – familiar yet long dormant – and not at all welcome? He would have preferred that she had cursed him when she first walked in the door, instead of assaulting his every sense with her goodness, beauty and light.

Damn her.

Fucking hell, but this was not going as he planned. Moving slightly, he stepped around her and sat down in the chair right in front of her desk, where she usually sat, he was certain. "Why don't you have a seat, angel? We have some things to discuss, you and I."

Surprising him, she sat down in a chair across the desk, even lowering her wand. "What could you and I possibly have to discuss, Mr. Scabior?'

"Well, let me explain," he began.

All Hermione could think as he droned on and on about 'justice' and 'making things right' was the fact that HE was really here in front of her. Scabior the Snatcher was sitting at her desk, calling her all forms of endearment, confusing the hell out of her. This man was responsible for finding her, Harry and Ron. He was responsible for delivering them to Malfoy Manor during their Horcrux search, and he was responsible, indirectly, for her subsequent torture. He was the reason she was almost tortured to death, almost to madness, by Bellatrix Lestrange.

The last she had heard, he was still serving time in Azkaban, and though dementors no longer guarded the Wizarding prison, the place was still a haunting and harrowing place. She knew this because she often had to visit there for her work.

And as was often the case, the last ten years had altered the man to the extreme.

She remembered him as once wearing clothing that seemed a hodge-podge of colours and designs. Today, he wore simple black trousers, black boots and a black t-shirt. The only thing that looked familiar was his long, leather duster.

The man before her… all in black… was different in other ways. His hair, once worn in long braids and dreadlocks down his back, was shorter now, although it was still long enough for him to pull back from his face. He had some sort of strange mark, perhaps a tattoo, under his left eye, and more around his neck and the exposed portions of his wrists.

She supposed it might be said by some that he was still good-looking; however, all she saw when she looked at him was the horror and pain of her past.

What did he want? He had yet to say, instead, he was talking about mundane things like the weather and the price of tea. She moved forward in the seat, placing her wand next to his on top of the desk. Only then, did she stop him to ask the million-galleon question.

"Stop talking and answer my previous question. What do you want? Why are you here?"

He smiled. The corners of his eyes crinkled, yet Hermione would have been hard pressed to believe his smile was sincere. She waited patiently for his response, still thinking of his smile, his white teeth, his blue eyes, his hands with long, elegant fingers… that moved quickly to the top of the desk as he reached for their wands.

How could she have been so stupid?

Now a sincere smile played upon his face, as he leaned back in her chair behind the desk, crossing his legs, twirling her wand in one hand, tucking his in his coat with the other.

"I want you to help me find someone," he said smoothly, pointing her wand from him to her as he spoke.

She let out an inelegant snort and said, "Wasn't finding people your forte?"


	2. Chapter 2

**The Crux of the Story**

"I want you to help me find someone," Scabior said smoothly, pointing her wand from him to her as he spoke.

Hermione let out an inelegant snort and said, "Wasn't finding people your forte?"

He merely smiled at her, which irritated her to no end. Her mind began to spin with possibilities of WHY he was here to see her. Was it for retribution – did he blame her and Harry for the fact that he went to prison? Was it for curiosity – did he wonder what had happened to her? Or was it sincere? Did he truly want her to find someone, and if so, why her?

Standing from the chair, he walked around the desk, until he was right beside the chair where she sat. She looked up at him and realized that she truly couldn't decipher his intent, which bothered her.

Leaning back on her desk, his thigh touched her arm, but she refused to remove it. He smiled at her. "Oh, darling girl, you don't seem to understand."

Refusing to play his game, already tired of his vagueness, she said, "Then why don't you explain so you can get the hell out of my office and I can go back to work."

His long hair, pulled back with a leather strip of cord, fell over one shoulder. His right hand, still holding her wand, remained still on his long, muscled thigh. From this distance, she could see that his eyes were a surprisingly shade of blue. She could see fine lines around his eyes and mouth, denoting that life was hard in prison, for he looked older than years. She guessed him to be around thirty-five, but she wasn't certain. He cocked his head to the side, and when he spoke in his lilting voice, he seemed more dangerous than anyone she had encountered in a very long time.

Suddenly, Scabior doubted his reasons for coming. This woman – beautiful woman – who worked in the slums of their world, did not seem surprised by his appearance today. She did not seem afraid or worried. She made no effort to flee from him, or to reach around him for her wand as he placed it on the desk behind him, while she continued to look slightly bored – and alarmingly beautiful.

How fascinating.

Tilting his head as he studied her, he continued. "I've heard that you help many prisoners from the war. I find that interesting, since you and your little group of do-gooders were responsible for most of them being in prison in the first place, but it doesn't matter. I heard you were the person that could help me, so I humbly come to you with a request." He bowed his head slightly, but when he brought it back up, he had the same sly smile plastered on his face.

"I believe the prisoners I help are those who truly seek redemption, or were falsely accused. Furthermore, most of the ones who were guilty are in prison because of something THEY did, not because of Harry Potter and me." She looked toward the doorway, and then said, "And now it's time for you to leave. I can't help you."

"But I have a sincere proposition for you," he began, only to have her interrupt.

She stood so she was toe to toe with him and reaching behind him with acute speed, she grabbed her wand, pointed it at his chest, and said, "Leave now."

"If you were a kind host, you would offer me a cup of tea, sweet girl." Pushing her wand aside with the back of his hand, he pushed off the desk as well. Walking around the room, he smiled at her. He decided right then and there that this was going to work wonderfully. "Since you won't offer me tea, won't you at least hear me out?"

He watched her as she moved around the desk to sit on the chair he had abandoned. She was pursing her full, red lips, causing him to look right at them. He found himself quickly aroused – something that hadn't happened in a long time – and he didn't like it one bit.

That beautiful mouth of hers moved as she said, "Fine, say your piece and then you will leave, or I'll remove you from my office, and you won't like the way I go about it, I guarantee it."

Shrugging, he said, "I don't know, sweetness. I don't think I'd mind a struggle with you. It might prove fascinating."

When she didn't respond, he sat down in the chair opposite the desk and rubbed his hand back and forth across his jaw. She continued simply to stare at him, waiting for him to continue. He dropped his hand from his face, placed it on the desk, and rubbed the wood back and forth, just as he had his jaw. In his head, he was going over what he was going to say again. He had to word it perfectly for this to work. He had no intention of working hard for the ends to his mean, no, that obligation would be all hers.

Not moving in her chair, she replied with a harsh tone, "Get on with it or get out."

Finally, he smiled. His innate sense of smell, highly honed from all those years as a Snatcher, told him that she was curious now, even though she acted differently. The slight shift in her scent told him this clearly, even as her lush mouth told him other secrets.

Watching her closely, he knew the time was right. "As I said, I need you to help me find someone, and I'll pay you double your regular fee."

She snorted again, which he found endearing. "Mr. Scabior, if you knew anything about what I do for ex-prisoners of Azkaban, you would know that I don't charge them a thing for helping them."

Smiling widely, he said, "Then I should be able to double that amount easily."

A half smile, so small, so quick, came to her beautiful mouth, and just as quickly disappeared. He felt the movement all the way through his body. His pulse was now beating quickly, responding to her enticements, imaging many, many things.

Meeting his gaze fully, she finally responded. "Fine, I'll help you find this person you're looking for." She pulled out a piece of parchment from her desk, and lifted a quill from the inkwell beside it. With her hand poised over the blank piece of paper, she said, "Who is it you want me to find? Is it someone who disappeared during the war? Someone who was captured, but not taken to Azkaban? Who?"

A flow of victory coursed through him. He lean forward in his chair, placed his warm hand over her small hand, stilling it. Then he answered her. "I want you to help me find me."

**The Tale Continues**

"I want you to find me," Scabior told Hermione, the smile fading from his face.

Hermione looked at the man in front of her with a mixture of confusion and resentment. Why had he REALLY come here today? What did he truly want with her? She would find out posthaste and then ask him (or tell him) to leave. "Let me get this straight," she began, standing from her chair, but moving to the other side of the room – away from him. "You want ME to find YOU? Is that right?"

He winked at her. "Everyone always said you were a bright one, love. Catch on quite quick, you do." He moved so he was standing in front of her. "Yes, I want you to help me find me."

She snorted. "Then consider the matter put to rest. You're right here in front of me. Case solved, mystery revealed." She walked to the outer door of her office and opened it. "There, I found you, now you may find your way out of here. I have real work to pursue."

He started to walk in front of her, but then quick as a snake, he reached for her hand with his, slammed the door shut with his foot, and pulled her to him, causing her to lose her balance. Forced to face him, her hands on his chest less she fall, he looked right into her eyes and laughed. "You're a coy little thing, aren't you? Too smart by half. But things aren't as simple as they seem, sweetheart, less I wouldn't be here, would I?"

Pushing away from him, she answered, "Of course they aren't. Why would I assume anything to do with you would be easy?" She crossed to the other side of the small office, planted her feet on the floor and cocked her head to the side. "Just explain yourself so I can get back to work."

"But of course, darling girl," he replied, walking toward her again. She wanted to step away from him – he could see that in her expression – but there was nowhere to go. Likewise, he was certain she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flee. She was braver than that – she was.

Standing an arm's length from her, he said, "Do you know why I became a Snatcher?"

A small exhale of breath left her body. "How would I know any intimate details of your life?"

Stepping around her, he leaned one shoulder against the wall. She turned her body so they were again face-to-face. He couldn't help himself… he reached up and touched her hair, yet the action was so fast that she either didn't notice, or didn't care. "I became a Snatcher for the money, dear heart. I didn't have an infinity for Voldemort and his cause. I couldn't have cared any less about mudbloods, purebloods, or Half-bloods. I only cared about the end result – the pay off. And there was a little matter of me being particularly good at my job. That always makes a man smile, don't you think?"

"And a woman," she quipped.

He smiled widely at her. "Are we flirting?"

A look of sudden indignation crossed her features. He smiled even more. "I wasn't flirting with you. I meant a woman likes to be good at her job, too."

His smile slipped from a wide beam to a subtle grin. "I thought you meant that a woman likes a man to be good at his job, if you get my drift."

She looked up toward the ceiling, said to no one in particular, "Give me strength," and then pushed him away from her with both hands. "Please get on with it. I really haven't all day."

"I already told you what I want. Now you need to tell me what I have to do to make you take me on, so to speak. As stated, I became a Snatcher for the money – well, and the fame. You cost me the biggest bounty I would have ever seen, years ago. It would have set me up for life, taking you and Potter in, but nothing turned out as planned. You're going to remedy that. You're going to repay me."

.

She decided he was harmless. Well, not harmless. That would be a gross understatement. However, she decided he wasn't going to cause her harm. He might bore her to death with his tedious banter, but he wasn't going to hurt her. Narrowing her gaze, she glared at him and spat, "First, you wanted me to help you find you, and now you want what? Money? Just get on with it already, Mr. Scabior. I have work to resume, work which requires me to help people who really need it. Besides, it's after lunchtime and I'm hungry."

He laughed low in his throat and smiled a white smile at her. She was struck again; by how handsome he was, especially when he smiled. He had perfect white teeth. They shined against the day's growth of beard and his dark complexion and clothing.

"I don't want your money, sweetheart. What good would that do me? I only want what's rightfully mine. I want what's due to me."

Hermione hummed low in her throat. She had to admit she was intrigued, but also leery. "Finish with your request."

All it took for him to stand in front of her was one more step, which he took. Placing his left hand flat against the wall by her head (where she was leaning) he moved closer to her. This close, she could smell his woodsy scent – something between leather and musk – and she found that she could count each individual sooty-coloured eyelash over his now hooded eyes.

Smiling again, he placed his second hand on the other side of her head, caging her in, blocking her way. Her heartbeat sped up, and she felt captive, or was it captivated? She waited patiently to see what he would do or say next. His mouth moved within centimeters of her ear, and as he spoke, his breath fanned against the little hairs at the nape of her neck.

He explained, in a hushed whisper, which caused her to shudder, "When I captured you and your friends, all those years ago, you were my main prize. You would have given me the biggest bounty known to all Snatchers. I would have lived comfortably for the rest of my life on that money. I would have had fame and fortune, even if I had still had to serve my time in Azkaban. It all would have been mine if I had been the one to turn you over to the Ministry at the time."

Feeling powerless, she found his voice intoxicating. She swayed toward him, then placed her hands on his chest again and tried to push him away. He wouldn't move. She replaced her hands on his shoulders, for purchase, and stated, "The Malfoy family took us from you. Get restitution from them. They still have plenty of money. It's not as if anyone told you to take us to the Manor anyway. I often wished you had taken us to the Ministry instead."

Ignoring that comment, and all its implications, he skimmed his nose down her neck, causing her body to thrum tighter than a bass drum. "I had no choice in the matter, love, just as you have no choice but to help me recoup my losses."

Closing her eyes against the onslaught of strange feelings raining down on her, she said, "I have so many choices, Mr. Scabior, but you only have one." Just as she felt his mouth open against her neck, she pushed him away from her with all her might. Pointing toward the door she concluded, "Your only choice is to leave right now and never come back."

She walked back to the door and opened it.

Turning her back on the man was one of the biggest mistakes she would ever make.


	3. Chapter 3

**An Agreement is Made**

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as the former Snatcher turned her around in his arms and pulled her back against his chest. Just as he had done earlier, he slammed the door close once more with his foot. The glass in the door rattled due to the force. Facing him fully, she kept her gaze upon his. She had learned many years ago not to show fear. Instead, she schooled her features and demanded, "Let go of me." Then she added, "Please."

She was proud of herself when he released her, but then chagrined when he reached for her wrist and pulled her away from the door. His hold on her was tight, not painful, but still, his unwavering glance was that of a predator – and she would prefer not to be his prey.

Allowing herself to be led back to her seat, he motioned to her chair. She sat down when he released her wrist. Unconsciously, she rubbed the skin of her wrist with her other hand, causing a flash of something close to remorse to flicker across his face.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked softly. "That was never my intention. It's only, I'm a bit desperate, and I don't mind you knowing. The die is cast, so to speak, and can't be undone. I have no choice now but to throw myself at your mercy. If you won't help me, there's no help to be found."

She thought he seemed less contrite than before. Nodding, she motioned to the chair in front of her desk, (where he had sat earlier) and said, "Fine. I'll help you. Tell me your plan."

She was as surprised as he was, apparently, at her willingness. He nodded and said, "I feel a bit parched, actually. Do you think I might have a spot of tea?"

Her eyebrows rose. "Tea? Really? You want me to serve you tea?"

He leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. "Most accommodating hostesses would, you know. Been a while since I had some good English tea." He waved his hand in the air. "And this is your office. I don't know where you keep the tea, or I'd make it myself."

She stood. "Somehow, I don't believe you'd do anything yourself, if you could get someone to do it for you." Still, she walked over to a small shelf, picked up a tin of tea, and put a small kettle on a hotplate to bring to a boil. As she was tinkering with the tea and dishes, she said, "Explain to me again what precisely you did, and how I can help."

Scabior stared at her quietly as she toiled with the tea. What a strange little bird she was. Was she really going to help him? He began, "I had heard from some of the guards that the Ministry put large bounties on war criminals, when they escaped. That gave me my idea, it did. I thought if they are willing to put a large bounty on these supposed criminals…"

She turned around sharply and interrupted. "Supposed criminals?" In her hand were two cups of tea. She placed one in front of him, one on the other side of the desk, (for her) and sat down.

"Ah love, how did you know I liked it dark?" he asked, taking a sip.

"I didn't. I don't have cream or sugar," she interjected. "Continue your story. Start with the supposed criminal part."

He smiled at her as he placed the tea cup back on the saucer. "Yes, supposed criminals, for everyone in jail is innocent, don't you know?" He continued to smile at her, loving the fact that she smiled – ever so infinitesimal – back at him. "Where was I, oh yes, anyway, I thought to myself – self, if they are willing to pay Snatchers and bounty hunters to bring these criminals back in, then who better to bring me in, if I should escape, than the best Snatcher there ever was."

She regarded him with narrow eyes. "Sounds a bit convoluted and conceited, but go on."

He took another drink of tea. "I had also heard from several inmates that you were the lawyer to get, if ever someone wanted out. You're a war hero and the best solicitor there is. Who better for the best Snatcher to get to help him than the best solicitor?"

Making a funny face, she scooted her tea to the side and stood. "So you escaped, not even knowing it they WOULD place a large bounty on you, and then you came up with this stupid plan for me to find you – for the reward – and then I'm supposed to turn it over to you AND defend you at the same time?"

"Something like that," he quipped. "Of course, I know you'd want your due. Fifty/fifty, I say. Share and share alike." He came to stand on her side of the desk. He turned to look at the diplomas and pictures on her wall. Fingering the frame of one he asked, "So, do we have a deal?"

Standing beside him, she said, "You don't even know if I'll be able to get you out of jail. I'm certain you'd have to spend at least six months in there for running away, plus you'd have to serve the rest of your time. Did you even think of that? Also, how can you trust that I'd not take all the money and run?"

He exhaled a long breath and turned to her. His large body was blocking the light from the door, which gave the small office its only light. Her features were beautiful in the light, but in the half dark of a late afternoon, in a small, dark office, he thought they were mesmerizing. Reaching toward her, he stilled his hand and brought it back to his side. "I was almost at the end of my sentence, so I think serving the rest wouldn't be too hard. And I doubt I'd have any extra time put on, seeing how I'm going to rescue you."

"Rescue me from what?" she asked, confused.

"There's a plan to have you kidnapped. The kidnappers plan to ask your old friend Mr. Potter for a half a million galleons for your safe return, the only thing is, they don't plan to keep you too safe. They plan to torture and rape you and probably kill you." He swallowed tightly, thinking of this beautiful girl wounded and killed… it even sickened the likes of him. He was still plagued with guilt every time he thought of what had happened to her at The Manor the night he and his fellows captured her. It turned his stomach at the very thought, but he tamped all those feelings down and added, "I won't let that happen, even if you decide you won't help me. I'd still try to keep you safe."

She looked adequately scared now, as she should be, and as she should have been from the start. She asked, "Is this another ploy of yours? Or are you the mastermind of my impending kidnapping as well?"

He shook his head even as he finally let his hand reach out for her. Skimming his knuckles down her arm he said, "No, sweetness, this is real, and I had nothing to do with it. Seems you failed to get a certain bloke by the name of James Waller out of prison. His family isn't too happy about that, so they planned this little interlude for you. I heard it with my own ears, I did. Jimmy boy was bragging about it to some of us inmates. Seems it's to happen tonight, so we really don't have much time. I've been watching you for a while now, waiting to tell you when the time was right. I shouldn't have waited this long, I realize, but I did and that's the whole of it. You also don't have much of a choice. Let me help you, and in return, you help me."

She shivered, so he dropped his hand from her arm, but then decided to reach out and hold her hand – though it was crazy to do, he knew. She said, "How much time did you have left to your sentence anyway?"

That wasn't what he expected her to ask, but since she did, he said, "I was to be let go in ten days from now, darling."

"Didn't it occur to you that you could have just told the authorities, and they would have let the Aurors and Special police know of the plot? I'm sure Harry would have been happy to compensate you somehow, if it turned out to be credible information that saved me from being harmed. Didn't you think of that?"

He leaned ever closer. "Darling girl, I always think of everything. That's why I'm the way I am. This was the best way to do this, believe me. Or, let me say, it's the easiest way, at least for me."

"To save face with the other prisoners?" she asked. "Don't you think they'll find out that you told me of the plot against me?"

Again, he shook his head. Then he placed her hand, which oddly enough he was still holding, on his arm. Turning them both away from the wall, he walked them toward the center of her office. "They won't know, because, if you agree to my terms, the only thing THEY will know is that I was able to kidnap you before Waller's family got to you."

She stared at him wide-eyed. "You plan to kidnap me?"

He smiled again, walking her toward the door. "Not really, no, but that's what everyone will think. I'll pretend to kidnap you, at least in the eyes of my fellow inmates, and they will think you overtook me, seeing how you're a famous war hero and all, I'm sure that's believable. Then, you'll turn me into the authorities, when in reality, you'll really tell your friends the Aurors that I alerted you of their dastardly plot in exchange for your help."

"And in exchange for half of your reward money," she tacked on.

He shrugged. "They don't need to know about that small detail. In fact, I'd rather that not be made public, as the fellows at the prison won't take kindly to me when I go back – not if they think I'm some sort of knight in shining armor. Best to let them think I planned to kidnap you, you overtook me, and then out of some sense of blinding… oh, let's call it 'undying attractiveness to me', you decide to THEN help me out of my fix, by getting me back out of jail. No one needs to know the truth, not the complete truth, not the Ministry or the inmates at Azkaban."

He had walked her toward the door, and in the process had picked up her jacket, purse, and wand. Stuffing them all in her hands he asked, "Do we have a deal? If so, we'd best get out of here. The blokes who were hired to kidnap you will be here any minute."

"I must be crazy," she said, shrugging into her coat, "and I'm not sure I completely believe you, nor do I really trust you, but let's go. We have a deal."

To his complete and utter surprise, she took his hand and led him out the door.

They left just in time. For as they started in one direction down Knockturn Alley, a man with a frown and criminal intentions started down another.


	4. Chapter 4

**Time to End it**

Scabior led her to a shabby looking hotel down at the end of Knockturn Alley. Walking past the man at the desk, who appeared to either be dead or sleeping, he reached back, grabbed her hand, and then led her down a long, narrow hallway to the end, where there was a locked door.

He touched his wand to the door and it opened for them. Just as he started to step aside for her to enter, there was a loud noise somewhere in the Inn, then raised voiced.

He pushed her roughly into the room. Once inside, Scabior pushed his entire body against hers, pressing her against the wall by the door. Moving so quickly that she didn't see him, or have time to examine how he did it, he had her hands in his, her wand on the floor by their feet, and her breath caught in her throat.

"What… what are you doing?" she asked, her voice catching with each breath.

"Can't be too careful, can we? You see, we were being followed; we were, so it reasons that the bloke following us might be here in the Inn. That loud noise we heard might have been him overtaking the clerk. He might be outside this door at this very moment, wand raised and at the ready."

"What rot," she murmured. A very loud noise, which sounded almost like an explosion, sounded somewhere close by, causing Hermione to yell in surprise.

Placing his hand over her mouth, he leaned in close and said, "I told you so. Keep quiet for a moment, won't you sweetness. Let's make sure there's no one about to storm into the room."

"I'd be of more help if you let me go. I can't even get to my wand this way," she said carefully, looking down at the floor where her wand was laying near her feet.

He smiled down at her. "If I let you go, I wouldn't be able to feel your soft body next to mine. I think I like things just as they are."

"Seriously…" she began.

"Yes love," he echoed, "Seriously." Then without warning or prelude, he placed his lips softly upon her for an all too swift kiss.

"I think the danger's gone," he said against her lips.

"I'm not so sure about that," she said in a whisper.

He smiled, but let her go, moving quickly over to the other side of the small room. The room had one window, one bed, a desk and a chair, a small wardrobe and that was all. It was neat, but mostly Spartan. Besides a couple of books on the desk and a small satchel with some clothing in it by the bed, there was nothing else in the room that would make it appear that anyone had been staying here for any amount of time.

"Is this your room?" she asked, although she already knew it had to be.

"Yes, this is where I've been staying. Nothing fancy, but it was close to you, and that's all that mattered," He moved to the desk, sat down, and held out his hand. "Come here, sweetness. I want to show you something."

"Could you not call me names like that?" she asked, coming closer. "I would prefer to keep this professional."

He laughed. "Oh, I can kiss you, can I, but I can't call you terms of endearment. How odd."

"I didn't say you can kiss me," she pouted.

"Yet when I did, you didn't protest, did you?" he argued.

"Now see here, Mr. Scabior, if you want me to help you, there will be no more kisses and no more 'terms of endearment' Do you understand?"

She no sooner made that statement when there was a loud commotion outside his door. She gasped once more; he stood from the desk, and pulled her up to his chest. Then he took several steps backwards, so that they were standing beside the wardrobe. If someone busted into the door, they wouldn't see them right away.

"What in the world is going on?" she said breathlessly. "I think I should leave. You need to let me go. Let me go now."

"You said you would help me," he said, his arms around her tight.

"I'll figure out something, but I don't want to be here," she continued.

"True, this is an unsavory place," he said, holding her tighter. "Hence the reason I'm protecting you with my own life, don't you know? By the way, while I have you here, perhaps we could start over, shall we?" he said, a bit more menacing than before. He still seemed calm, but Hermione could feel his heart beating – his chest against hers – her hands still in his, now behind her back. "I need to convince you to help me."

"Go on," was all she could say.

With her breasts pressed against him, he said, "I escaped from Azkaban two weeks ago. Call it an early release, without approval. I thought if I did that, the Ministry might place a rather large bounty on my head. As I already told you, they obliged nicely. I want that money, my girl. I want that money, I want what I deserve, and you're the person who will help me obtain it."

Releasing a modicum of pressure on her wrists, he moved their joined hands to his chest, but kept the rest of his body flushed against hers. He placed his mouth directly on her ear again. "I only want what belongs to me."

"And I'll help you, I will, somehow, but this is crazy! I can't help you from the confines of this room. I shouldn't have come here with you. Tell me how I can help you from here?" she asked, her voice catching deep in her throat, her breasts heaving against his chest, tears (which she refused to shed) burning the back of her eyes.

As quick as a cat, he moved their hands again so they were over her head, on the wall. Grasping both of her hands in only one of his, he held them high while he reached inside his dark leather duster for a piece of parchment. He kept it in his left hand as he released her hands with his right. Turning her around in his arms, smiling, irritating the hell out of her, he said, "Here, read this."

He shoved the piece of paper into her hands and finally stepped away.

Gazing down at the piece of parchment in her hand, she said, "It's a wanted poster. For you."

He leaned his head down to look in her eyes. "Do you think it's a good likeness? I frankly think I'm better looking in real life, but they've captured my essential good looks rather well."

She ignored his comment and went to sit at the desk. "Fifty thousand Galleons – that's a lot of money – for your return to Azkaban, where you'll finish the rest of your sentence." After reading the poster once more, she looked up at him, curiously, and said, "You only had three more months to serve! Why would you escape?"

His smile grew as he cocked his head to the side. Sitting on the desk, he looked down at her. "Well I could hardly collect the reward for my capture if I had waited to leave prison when my sentence was finished, could I?"

Placing the wanted poster face down on the desk by his leg, she said, "Where do I fall in to this scheme of yours?"

He shrugged, stood, and took two quick steps away from her, only to turn around on his booted heel. He bowed low to her, and then stood before announcing, "You've captured me darling girl, and in my very own room. How shrewed of you. Say a quick incarceration spell, then take me to the Ministry and collect the reward. Then, you're represent me at my hearing, because they WILL have a hearing, and you're defend me, get me a reprieve, and all will be well. And it won't hurt things when the Ministry finds out that I kept the Waller family from doing you harm. Chances are the Wallers are watching this hovel as we speak."

"What if I don't believe you? What if I incarcerate you, and then leave you to face your enemies on your own? Better yet, what if I decide to let your lying carcass rot in jail and not to give you the money?" she asked.

He laughed. "Oh, you'll turn the money over to me."

She sighed. "Why would I do that?"

"Here's how I reason it all," he started. "I worked very hard to capture you the last time, and it was all for naught. This time, you'll do all the work, I'll sit back on my lazy arse, and we'll all live happily ever after. I'm also actually doing a good deed for the first time in my life, for I swear I'm not lying to you about the threat to you, and I think you know that's the truth."

"Even if I do believe you, I still feel it's best to tell the Aurors and authorities about the threat," she leveled.

"And I'd go back to jail, where my life will be worthless. I won't have a sickle to my name. That's no good, darling. My plan is perfect, and you know it. Capture me, then lead me out of here, take me with you to the Ministry, get your reward, help me face my accusers, and then you can go back to doing whatever little do-gooders like you do, and I can go back to my life."

She barked out a laugh. "You mean you can go back to prison," she sneered. "I can almost promise you that they would force you to finish out your sentence, even if they didn't tack on more time for your escape."

He had the audacity to laugh at her. "No, sweetheart, you won't let that happen to me. Out of the goodness of your heart, you'll represent me at my hearing, convince them that I only escaped prison out of desperation, that I'm truly reformed, that I saved your life, and my sentence will be commuted. I mean, seriously love, what good is 50,000 Galleons to a bloke in prison?"

He approached her again, slowly, waiting for her reply.

"What good is 50,000 Galleons to a dead man?" she asked in return, her wand back in her hand, and pointing right at his chest.

That was when all hell broke loose.


	5. Chapter 5

**Let's Just finish this, shall we?**

Scabior had just finished telling Hermione everything. He needed her to 'capture him' (what a concept), turn him in, and then collect the reward. The most important part of his plan – the part he hadn't yet told her – was that she needed to wait to do these things until the threat to her was over with, after all, if she died at the hands of Waller or his family, all of this would have been in vain. Funny thing, that… but he seemed to have a soft spot for the woman.

Approaching her slowly, he asked, "Seriously, love, what good is 50,000 Galleons to a man in prison?"

"What good is 50,000 Galleons to a dead man?" she asked in return, her wand back in her hand, and pointing right at his chest.

He admired her pluck and agility – how did she get her wand back – and was about to tell her so when there was a loud explosion right outside his door. The blast caused the door to fly off its hinges, splintering wood and debris flying everywhere.

Hermione was knocked into his chest. His arms went instinctively around her, just as he pulled her away from the door. Pushing her down behind the far side of the wardrobe, he stood in front of her, wand at the ready, waiting for the deluge that was about to rain down on them.

The subsequent encounter happened fast and furious. There was an explosion… the door busted opened… Hermione was sent flying into Scabior's chest… he pulled her farther into the room and then placed his body in front of hers. Then, he was suddenly engaged in a fight with James Waller himself. He should have known the man would come after him; after all, they did escape prison together.

With a rush of adrenaline, he shouted for Hermione to leave the room, even as curses and hexes flew around their heads like a sudden summer storm. Hermione ignored his pleas for her to leave, crawled under the bed – to hide, he hoped – only to climb out from the other side. When he saw her standing on the other side of Waller he was momentarily distracted.

That was when the curse hit him. He fell backwards, crumbling to the floor. He saw her striking her wand toward the other man in a swift arc. Even as Scabior himself was falling to the floor, he saw James Waller fall as well, the man not even aware of Hermione's curse hitting him.

The entire skirmish ended almost quickly as it began.

"For fuck's sake!" Scabior hissed, bringing his hands up to his chest. He was in pain, but alive. He wasn't sure the same couldn't be said for the other man. "Why didn't you leave the room when you had a chance?"

Hermione stepped over the other man's body and rushed to him. Kneeling before him on the ground, she started to move the lapels of his jacket, ripping apart his waistcoat, and unbuttoning his shirt. "Be grateful I didn't. If I did, you'd be dead."

He stilled her hands just as she parted his shirt. "What are you doing?" he asked, wincing in pain. "Go any further, and people will think we're dating."

She cocked her head to the side and looked at him with obvious exasperation. "I'm trying to ascertain if you're hurt."

He sat upright, grabbing her hands in his. "I'm fine, I'm fine."

She turned her head to look at the man on the floor. "Is that one of James Waller's family members?"

Grimacing in pain, he released her hands and placed his back against the wooden doors of the wardrobe. "Not exactly. I'm surprised you don't recognize him, but then again, he is lying face down on the floor. That, my sweets, is James Waller himself."

Hermione gasped and turned back to look at the man again. "He escaped from prison?"

Closing one eye for a moment, while he checked his own chest for injuries, he said, "Yes."

She looked back toward Scabior. "Did you know that?"

"Yes," he repeated, standing up with difficulty.

She stood as well. "Why didn't you tell me this? Didn't you think it was important? You went on and on and on about everything else, but didn't tell me the most important part? The man who wanted to harm me escaped from prison! It's not that hard of a sentence to say! Did he escape before or after you?"

Scabior walked over to the man, who was lying on his stomach, and poked him with the toe of his boot. "Well, we sort of escaped together."

"What?" she yelped. "Were you in collusion with the man? Were you helping him in some way?"

He turned to her. "I'm not sure I know what collusion means, and no, I wasn't helping him. He helped me, if you must know. He told me all about his plans to escape… how his family was going to help him, and how he was going to find you and make you pay for your failure to get him out of prison. I thought – why not escape with him? I mean, he already had the means and a way, and I'm nothing if not industrious. If someone else can do all the hard work, and I reap some of the reward, I'm going to go for it."

Hermione pushed him, but he hardly stumbled.

She said, "You're reprehensible!"

"Now that's a word I know," he said, walking toward the doorway. He stuck his head out the door, to look up and down the hall. "Good thing this isn't a respectable hovel. Doesn't appear anyone heard the commotion," he mumbled, coming back into the room. He turned and saw her staring at him.

She spat, "You're nothing but a lazy, no good, liar!"

Pointing his wand toward the broken door, he fixed it in a thrice and then turned back toward the angry woman in front of him. "Listen, love," he began, "I told you the truth in parts. I'm serious when I said that if someone else could do the work for me, and I reap the benefits, that I was going to go for it. James Waller was going to escape from Azkaban, something that hadn't been done in a long time. He was also going to kill you, something that at the time, I admit, I didn't think too much on, because I was concentrating on what I would do once I escaped."

"You're loathsome!" she replied.

He walked to her, stood right in front of her, and said, "What do you know, I know that word, too. Now, may I finish?"

She swept her hand out in front of her, as if to say, 'Go on'.

"The more I talked to the man, while we were still in prison, the more I realized he was a mad. I mean, he had serious anger problems, he did. I also began to think of you a bit more. I might have become obsessed with keeping you safe, but that's another story." Scabior took her wrist in his hand, and though she tried to pull away, he was stronger. Sitting down on the bed, he pulled her down beside him.

"That was when I concocted my part of the plan. I knew once we escaped, we'd have a bounty put on our heads. I knew I could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. I decided to come to you before Waller approached you, and that I would draw you away from him. And by doing so, I'd protect you from him as well." He looked over at the man on the floor and added, "Little did I know it would be you protecting me from him, but I'm man enough to say thank you."

"You had to known he would try to kill me, right?" she said, some of the anger and fire gone from her voice.

"I counted on it," he admitted. "I didn't know it would happen today, because the last time I saw him, he was merely snooping around your office, just as I was snooping after him. His original plan was to kidnap you from your office, but he said he was going to do it when no one else was around. I thought I had enough time to get you out of your office, so he wouldn't have a chance. Once I had you here, I swear I was going to tell you he had escaped from prison too, and that you were in immediate danger. I thought we would have you turn me in, tell your little Auror friends of the threat to you, and that they would lay in wait for him. After they captured him, you'd be safe, and well on your way to defending me against my new charges. I figured a month or two might go by, in which I'd be detained, sure, but not in Azkaban. I thought Waller would be sent back there, so for my own protection, I thought the Ministry would detain me elsewhere until my new trial. After you got me off, scot-free, I might add, you would then give me my part of the reward money."

She was glaring at him.

"I thought it was a perfect plan," he concluded.

"That was your first mistake," she retorted. "You thought."

**In Conclusion **

A few weeks later, Scabior was in a holding cell in the Ministry, where he'd been since the day Waller tried to kill Hermione. It wasn't a very comfortable place, but at least it wasn't Azkaban.

After he admitted everything to the woman, she contacted Potter. Potter and the other Aurors came right away. Waller, who unfortunately didn't die, was immediately sent back to prison. To Scabior's surprise, she told Potter and the Aurors that Scabior saved her from the man, which was stretching the truth a bit, but made him admire her even more.

She told them that Scabior came to her office, told her straight away that Waller was out to get her (lie number two, but who was counting?) Then she told Potter that she went willingly to his hotel with him (stretching the truth number three) and that once there, Waller attacked them. The only truth was when she told them that while Scabior and the other man were dueling, she was the one who ended up cursing Waller. Scabior didn't mind that she took the glory for that one.

The day of his hearing, he was shocked that she appeared to defend him. He hadn't seen her since that day, and as they walked toward the courtroom, she refused to even look at him, let alone speak to him.

Therefore, he was stunned even more when she told the panel of judges that he escaped only to warn her of the danger from Waller. Once again, that was slightly stretching of the truth, but he was grateful for that lie, for it helped him tremendously. Hermione pointed out that Scabior only had three months left on his sentence, so for him to escape and face the possibility of more time in prison was a commendable thing. He almost laughed at that little fabrication, but he didn't.

Afterwards, when he was taken back to his cell to await the sentencing, she merely told him she would be in touch. That was five days ago. And here he sat… waiting to hear his fate… waiting to find out if he was going to go back to Azkaban, or if, luckily, he would be set free.

He heard footsteps on the concrete floor. Standing from the small cot where he'd been sitting – and musing – he saw her stop in front of his cell.

"Well, the verdicts been rendered," she replied without emotion.

He found himself swallowing the lump in his throat. "And?' he said, momentarily without words.

"You're going to be set free," she said dispassionately. "The judges decided your sentenced would be commuted. They think you did a good thing, and that you shouldn't be further punished. Congratulations. I'm sure there'll be some papers for you to sign, and then you'll be on your way. Goodbye."

She started to turn away. He snaked his hand between the bars on his cell and grabbed her upper arm. She glanced down at his hand, back into his eyes, and waited. "What?" she said.

He wanted to say thank you, but he couldn't find the words. Odd… he was a man who usually had words tumble out of his mouth with ease, but he couldn't find the right words to express to her his gratitude. Instead, he asked, "What of the reward."

She pulled her arm from his grasp. "They decided to give me the reward for capturing you – just as you suspected they would. I decided to give it to a worthy charity, but don't fear," she smiled, "I did so in your name."

He brought his hand back into the cell and smiled. So be it. He should have expected she'd do something like that. Nodding, he said, "Well, okay then. I guess that was your right."

Turning, he took three steps and plopped back down on the cot. "I guess there's nothing else to say," he responded, although he knew he should say 'thank you' at the very least. Still, the words wouldn't come.

She gave him a curt nod and started to walk away, only to turn back. "While the Ministry rewarded me the bounty on your head, and I in turn donated it to the war orphan fund, they also gave me the reward on Waller's head. It was larger than the one for you."

He sat upright at that. "Imagine that. I didn't even think about that." He found himself smiling. Standing back up, he walked to the bars and stood in front of her. "Congratulations. Which little charity did you give that one to?"

"None," she said quickly. Then she reached inside her bag and drew out a piece of paper, folded in half. She held it out to him. "Here, this is for you. Don't look at until I leave. I think you owe me that much."

He took it, and without looking at it, he placed it in his pocket. He watched her until she was out of sight. She was right, he owed her that much. When she was gone, he removed the slip of paper from his pocket and looked at it. It was check, made out to Scabior, for 60,000 Galleons. He smiled. That little minx. She'd given him the reward for Waller. Well, what do you know?

**Epilogue, if you will**

He waited in her office all morning, but she had yet to appear. Glancing at the clock on her wall, he wondered where she was. She was usually in her office bright and early, yet here it was, almost noon, and she wasn't here.

Planting his arse down in her chair, he was about to place his feet on her desk when the door to her small office opened. She walked through the door, saw him sitting in her chair, and stopped cold.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, wide eyed. She threw her coat and satchel down on the floor and approached him.

"I just got out of jail," he replied, standing. Walking over toward her, in the middle of her small office, he added, "And I decided to come and tell you a proper thank you. I realized I didn't say that before, and I wanted you to know that I'm sincerely grateful for everything."

She nodded her head a few times and started to walk around him. He blocked her way to her chair. He gripped her arm at the elbow to stop her. He felt his heart lurch as she looked up at him and asked, "Was there something else?" She raised her eyebrows at him and waited.

"Yes," he murmured, "This." He pulled her to him, her breasts crushing into his chest. She was up on her toes, and she let out a little squeak as his lips crashed down on hers. The force of his mouth of hers caused her to open her mouth. That was all he needed. Without hurting her, but with vigor and purpose, he swept his tongue inside her mouth, against her teeth, over her tongue.

This kiss was a solemn vow to her. It was a pledge, a promise, and his way of telling her the things that he couldn't say with words. She kissed him back just as fiercely, her hands coming up around his neck, her mouth against his, and a small moan in the back of her throat.

The kiss went on and on, and when he at last removed his mouth from hers, he looked down at her with hooded eyes. She returned his gaze without flinching. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, and by the way she was breathing, he could tell she was just as swayed by the kiss as he was.

"What do you think you're doing?" she practically whispered.

He smiled. "I thought instead of talking you to death this time, I'd just show you how I feel."

She returned his smile. "I'm glad to know you're not only a man of words, but of actions as well."

He continued to smile at her. "Oh, I'm a man of action alright. Would you like me to show you more?"

She removed her wand from her pocket. Letting go of her arms, he stepped away from her, and lifted his hands. He was about to apologize… plead for forgiveness… tell her he'd leave immediately, when to his utter and complete surprise, she turned from him and pointed her wand at the door. The lock turned, and the blinds closed.

"You were saying, or rather not saying?" she said, a sly smile on her face.

He pulled her to him and said, "I certainly was."

The End


End file.
